A Dangerous Craft
by Pari-chan
Summary: Imayoshi reflects on his less-than-healthy relationship with a certain Kouhai. ImaHana, Yaoi. Mentions of bondage s&m.


When Imayoshi heard the news that Kiyoshi (Seirin's annoyingly skilled centre) had suffered a knee injury by Hanamiya's hand, he would be lying if said he didn't hold himself at least partially responsible.

As with anything Hanamiya did, Imayoshi had to portion some of the blame- for it was usually blame with Hanamiya, and never gratitude- to himself, because, well, he'd _made_ him.

Imayoshi had often dabbled in the exercise of influence, enjoying hearing his own ideology echoed back to him by unsuspecting victims, revelling in the thought of his own temperament taking host in someone else's body. He guessed you could call it a superiority complex, but he never _needed_ to influence others- it was something purely recreational.

A hobby, of sorts.

Except, Hanamiya had propelled _slightly_ out of his control.

He'd never intended to make Hanamiya _violent, _per se, nor did he ever anticipate any of the power-play they engaged in to actually manifest in Hanamiya's somewhat _underhanded_ tactics. Never did he think (and with an IQ that rendered most people speechless, this was somewhat surprising) that in investing in a pair of hand-cuffs and dedicating a year to honing Hanamiya's _craft_, would he be faced with a veritable masochistic _monster_ in the foreseeable future.

Why, he'd simply blurred the lines a little.

Laying face to face with said 'monster', though- mop of black hair not _quite_ disguising rose-dusted cheeks, a flickering set of thick eyelashes, and a pink-ish mouth that looked altogether _too_ pretty to have been doing the things it had been doing hours previous, Imayoshi found it difficult to see the error in his judgement.

Given if Hanamiya ever found out about Imayoshi's newfound habit- watching the boy sleep- he'd be lucky to ever step foot on a court again, Imayoshi had long since made the calculated decision to never tell Hanamiya how damned _adorable_ he looked after sex. He ghosted fingers across the plane of Hanamiya's cheek, siphoning away those shiny strands of hair and- really, this should be considered a new form of Russian roulette- tracing his thumb over the supple curve of the boy's lips; savouring the dip of the defined Cupid's bow that drove Imayoshi wild with longing at the best of times.

Hanamiya certainly knew how to use his lips, and _that_ was a skill he'd acquired all on his own.

* * *

When they'd first begun their strange, altogether too-toxic affiliation, Hanamiya had simply been restless. Imayoshi had heard about him through the grape vine, rumours spreading of the brilliant kid in class 2-E, Hanamiya Makoto. He was a bright boy, so they said, exceedingly so, and had crossed the threshold of smugness into that familiar realm of boredom that all geniuses slip into at some point or another. It was purely by chance that Imayoshi should find the object of the school's spotlight in his classroom, one day after school, poised over a chess board and check-mating himself with a sigh and a tiredness that Imayoshi had recognised from his own memories.

He'd walked in that day, moved a bishop, and lit a spark in Hanamiya's eyes.

"_Now, _it's check-mate," he'd drawled, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't have ulterior motives at this point. "_Flower_."

A few days down the line, and over thirty chess games behind them, Hanamiya could be found again in class 2-E, head between Imayoshi's thighs and heart racing with rebellion.

It was true that their liaison broke a-hundred taboos at once, but it was also true that Hanamiya would have broken a-thousand if he could have. A hurried blowjob here and there, a quickie in the gym, exchanges of texts that would make lesser men than Imayoshi cringe and blush and burn, gave the boy the excitement he had been craving.

Hanamiya relished the danger of it all, was drunk on Imayoshi's influence, and despite Imayoshi being only a year his senior, Hanamiya looked up at him with a sort of childish reverence that Imayoshi _wishes_ he could coax out of Hanamiya today as easily as he could back then.

The boy was like a sponge, soaking up Imayoshi's knowledge, absorbing himself into any literature, art or academia that was prodded his way by suggestive hands, growing and growing almost hourly under the his careful and calculated guidance.

He was keen to please, too, and seemed to live off the carefully woven praise that Imayoshi would sometimes feed him- which extended by no small means to the sexual aspects of their partnership. Hanamiya was downright _slutty_, and if he had even an ounce of shame in his body, it certainly wasn't visible when he had himself spread before Imayoshi like some sultry feast, or had his throat wrapped around the head of Imayoshi's cock, gag reflex banished somewhere like oblivion.

* * *

Imayoshi's hand froze in place when the boy's lips twitched under his fingers, glued with a suspensory tension that strung his nerves tight across sinew. Hanamiya tossed his silky head, locks falling out of his face; his heavy-set brows knotted slightly, threatening awakening, but soon settled, leaving the expanse of Hanamiya's forehead unperturbed.

Imayoshi released a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

He gazed upon the now fully exposed face before him- _inches_ before him- hand still hovering awkwardly over lips, tingling rhythmically with the warmth of Hanamiya's breathing.

It was no secret that Hanamiya was beautiful.

Imayoshi had never exercised restraint in appreciating the boy's aesthetic charms, and during sex he was always saccharine-sweet, all _'gorgeous, baby' _and _'so pretty, fuck' _and _'keep those eyes on me, beautiful'_.

So of course, Hanamiya had eventually realised that his looks could be used as more than just a compliment-generator, and, to Imayoshi's chagrin, he had begun to use them as leverage, temptation, or, depending on his mood, downright torture.

It was towards the end of Hanamiya's time in middle school, by which point Imayoshi had already begun his first year at Touou, that he'd start to notice small hints of Hanamiya's development spiralling out of his reach.

A chanced biting comment, snarky and sharp, an 'unintentional' brush of fingertips in the queue at Maji, a wanton grind of hips on a train that was hardly packed enough to warrant such movement- Imayoshi was discovering tidbits of Hanamiya's forming personality, which were, for the first time, not dictated play-by-play by his hands.

He remembered feeling the beginnings of fear.

It was nothing he couldn't nip in the bud, though, and while the lad was impressive in his will-power, he still held a quiet, almost begrudging admiration for Imayoshi throughout the rest of his middle-school terms. He still blushed and squirmed under Imayoshi's hold; still flushed with awe at his senior whenever they'd play basketball in the street-ball courts.

* * *

Imayoshi steadied his hand, his touch firmer now, trailing across the boy's delicate jaw and twirling fingers in his hair alternatively. Only when he saw Hanamiya really stir awake, breathing changing pace and body shifting onto its back, did Imayoshi pull back.

Hanamiya blinked his eyes open, still doe-like and deceptively pretty, looked over at Imayoshi, who hadn't bothered to feign sleep today, and scowled.

"I hate you," he spat, shoving Imayoshi's chest with a firm palm. He turned to face the opposite side of the room, not bothering to cover his very naked body. Imayoshi smiled bemusedly at the lithe figure before him, pale skin littered with dark bruises and welts and scratches and whip marks, wrists banded with strips of darkened skin, thighs suspiciously stiff and patched with redness.

"You're the one who suggested it," Imayoshi said, shrugging and reaching out to wrap a strong arm around that little waist. Hanamiya remained still, and really, _that_ spoke volumes.

He used two fingers to pick up a savaged silk garter, now a husk of soft fabric, that lay on the bed, inspecting the damage as best he could without the aid of his glasses. He was sure if he felt around a little more he'd find the matching panties somewhere in the covers, equally destroyed.

"Well, I didn't know you'd grown a fucking Frankenstein monster for a dick, did I?"

It was the first time they'd had sex in a year- Imayoshi had been busy with university applications and Hanamiya too stubborn to seek him out. They'd reunited at the Winter Cup, Imayoshi stinging with Touou's loss and Hanamiya bursting with excitement at the opportunity to rip the captain to pieces over it.

Ironically, with the hasty suggestion of '_no lube!'- _a decision now clearly regretted- the only person Hanamiya had succeeded in tearing open was himself.

"We'll, I've got to hand it to you, you took it like a true professional," Imayoshi drawled, peppering kisses along the nape of Hanamiya's neck. "You're still a little slut."

Hanamiya shivered back into his touches, then promptly decided that- oh yes, he _hated_ Imayoshi!- and kicked him hard in the shin.

Imayoshi didn't budge, grip tightening and nails digging into Hanamiya's torso. He dragged his teeth across the lobe of Hanamiya's ear and pressed his free fingers into a particularly nasty-looking bruise on his hip. The boy hissed, and Imayoshi could _hear_ the grin in the sharp sound.

The boy suddenly tossed his head around and flit his tongue over still-swollen lips- a practiced move, Imayoshi knew. "Does it annoy you that I've taken bigger?"

He slapped Hanamiya _hard_ on the thigh, knowing how his muscles must've been aching. The boy cried out this time, yelped and gasped, tears springing to his eyes.

"Not when I'm the only one who can make you scream, flower."

Hanamiya scowled, stiffening in Imayoshi's hold. "Stop calling me that! You're so fucking creepy, I swear."

"What? '_Flower'_?"

"_Yes_." Hanamiya reiterated, sighing deeply, and Imayoshi knew he was suppressing murderous urges.

"Don't you like it?"

"Obviously not!" Hanamiya snapped.

"Hmm..." Imayoshi drawled, voice whining in Hanamiya's ear. He knew he was shortening the boy's already minute fuse, but with his threat of a firm hand ready and waiting for deployment should Hanamiya misbehave, he found it hard to care. "You know, I think I'll keep it," Imayoshi concluded, after unnecessarily-long deliberation. "Suits you, you know? All delicate and sweet and _fragile-_"

"I hate you! I hate you, hate you-!"

Imayoshi tipped Hanamiya's head and kissed him full on the mouth, stealing those immature proclamations directly from the source.

* * *

The closest Hanamiya ever came to saying he loved Imayoshi was Hanamiya's birthday, the year previous. Imayoshi wasn't going to lie, he'd really thought about what to get the boy, perhaps as a last-ditch attempt at salvaging the _innocent _Hanamiya he'd lost somewhere along the way. He remembered clutching at a box of ludicrously expensive chocolate- 100%, almost black and bitter as all hell- thinking, _you're my last hope. _

He'd waited for Hanamiya to leave Kirisaki Daichi's grounds, ambushing him in a dingy street-court and kissing him hard enough to bruise. He remembered how happy he'd felt when Hanamiya just leaned into him and kissed back.

They'd spent the evening back at Hanamiya's place, sharing each piece of chocolate between two mouths, and Imayoshi remembered thinking _how appropriate_, the bitterness dissolving between their tongues, because Hanamiya was blushing for the first time in months and allowing Imayoshi to rake a hand through his hair, and hell if that wasn't progress.

"I still think about you, sometimes," Hanamiya offered. He sounded tentative, as if he was holding something in reserve. Imayoshi wished he wouldn't. The older boy sighed, propping up Hanamiya's chin with a fore-finger and kissing him slowly.

"I think about you all the time, Hana."

"Really!?" Hanamiya said abruptly, eyes wide and searching. He pulled back a little and toyed with his bottom lip with his teeth. "I mean... You do?"

"Whenever I'm not thinking about Sakurai," Imayoshi teased, knowing how his apologetic kouhai irritated Hanamiya.

"That's not funny at all," Hanamiya mumbled, clenching his fingers in the fabric of Imayoshi's shirt.

Imayoshi laughed, stroking a hand up Hanamiya's side and squeezing his little waist lightly.

"Only kidding," he said, dropping his voice low. "It's always been you."

He felt Hanamiya's body tense in his hold, and looked down to see a fully-flushed face gazing up at him.

"...You too."

* * *

Hanamiya was breathing hard when they broke contact, lips shining with saliva and cheeks hued, scowl somewhat less defined on his face.

"Now _there's _my cute Kouhai," Imayoshi proclaimed, brushing his lips over Hanamiya's forehead. Hanamiya inched up into the touch- only a fraction- face flaring. He tugged Imayoshi over to lean over him and blinked up through heavy-set lashes.

"_S-Senpai_... I'm... Hot..." Hanamiya all but whimpered, taking Imayoshi's hand in his and guiding it south. Imayoshi groaned, wetting his lips and grinding down into Hanamiya's lithe hips.

"Shit, Hana, I-"

"_Not!_" Hanamiya thrust his knee into Imayoshi's groin, grinning sadistically as Imayoshi buckled and collapsed onto him. "_As if _I'd say something embarrassing like that."

Imayoshi grimaced as Hanamiya laughed to himself, and really, after three years of knowing the boy, he had to wonder if this was as much gratification he'd ever get.

* * *

**FIN**


End file.
